The Silver Rings
by I am Lu
Summary: Pre-series. Martha never had the intention of raising children. That is until one unfortunate, late and stormy evening lands her as the caretaker of a little, blonde infant. Rated T for language and hinted physical abuse.
1. Prologue

Title: The Silver Rings

Pairing(s): None as of yet.

Rating: T

Warning(s): Language, implied physical abuse.

Note(s): I know you're all going to want to kill me for staring a new story, but I felt inspired; and I've come to recent realization that if I'm hit with inspiration, I can't put it off until later, I have to run with it, otherwise it will dry up. Anyway, this story was in part inspired by a discussion in the Retributionshipping club at the Janime forums, part inspired by Barbara King's novel "The Bean Trees," and part inspired by my older fic "Last Goodnight Kiss." Enjoy.

* * *

**Prologue**

"When you are a mother, you are never really alone in your thoughts. A mother always has to think twice, once for herself and once for her child."

--Sophia Loren

* * *

It was starting to get late. Unfortunately, infants have no perception of what late really is. Nor do husbands, apparently.

Loren Atlas could hear and feel every bone in her back crack as she sat up, sending a jolt of relief up her aching spine. This only reminded her of how much she desperately wanted to see a chiropractor, (even though there actually weren't any in the Satellite area, at least, as far as she was concerned) but couldn't afford it. However, she still couldn't help imagine a future where her family actually _would_ have the means to see a doctor regarding her back problems; she used to joke to her husband that she would probably walk out of the office an inch taller with how compressed her spine currently was.

Loren didn't even cast a second glance at the empty spot beside her in the bed; the other half of the mattress had been discovered vacant more and more often ever since her son had been born. She knew she wouldn't even bother to inquire her husband about where he had been whenever he decided to show up at the house; she would just be lied to, again.

The crying that had called Loren from her sleep in the first only grew with more intensity as she took her time to force herself out of bed. The young woman felt guilty about it for a moment, knowing her lackadaisical pace was both selfish and unfair to her child, who couldn't help himself to anything on his own. Tightening her robe, she ventured out of her bedroom and into the nursery--if it could even be called that. The new, yellow paint on the walls was already starting to peel, (she supposed she should have expected that though; it was 'homemade,' and bought from an old run-down store not too far from their home. The only reason she had bought it was because it was cheap and the manager claimed it had no lead in it) the room smelled like a mixture of air and dust, and the crib was practically ancient with splintering wood and a poor foundation.

Each leg of the crib stood in a Mason jar; she and her husband had not been aware that there was a scorpion problem when they bought the house--which would have certainly been a deal-breaker if they had previous knowledge of it, especially since she was pregnant at the time. After her son was born, she had developed a fear that a scorpion would one day climb up the leg of the crib and steal the life of her precious little boy away with one poisonous sting, something she couldn't control unless she were to constantly watch him as he slept. Her friend had suggested, however, that she put the legs of the crib in glass jars; scorpions apparently couldn't climb up glass.

"Oh sweetheart, are you hungry?" muttered Loren under her breath as she reached into the crib to pet her son's cheek. His crying subsided almost immediately, although he flinched when her finger accidentally brushed up against a bruise along his jawline. Loren pulled her hand back quickly, scared she had unintentionally hurt him; he had already been hurt enough. Eventually though, she hesitantly reached back into the crib and pulled him out, cradling him in her arms. He was a relatively big baby, weighing in around four kilograms when he was first born; and that was nearly six months ago. In retrospect, his size and weight during her pregnancy was probably a major contributing factor to the back pain she had been experiencing.

Loren settled herself in the rocking chair, which in truth was likely a lot older than the crib. Every time she went forward or backward, the wood would moan loudly, as if it were sick; it was hardly relaxing to the new mother, but it never failed to put her son back to sleep. His fat fingers began to grasp her breast, as if he were pleading her to feed him. Loren complied and loosened her shirt, so that it fell down and she was exposed; he immediately began to suck at her.

Loren was thankful he didn't have any teeth yet; she certainly knew that she wasn't looking forward to the day when breastfeeding would become a painful experience. She couldn't help but worry sometimes though--babies usually had their first tooth at six months, but as far as she knew, he wasn't even teething yet. The young women usually pushed these trivial fears aside though, convincing herself that he was perfectly fine; after all, there were plenty of babies who teeth late, right?

He hiccuped as soon as he finished, and turned his head downward to curl into his mother's chest. Loren smiled and brushed her fingers through his soft blonde hair; actually, the color of his hair was the only aspect of herself that she saw in him. Otherwise, he looked entirely like his father: intense, violet eyes, a sharp, chiseled face, and soft, fair skin. Yes, she was sure he would grow up to be a handsome boy (most mothers are).

The stormy clouds outside parted, allowing her silver wedding ring to glimmer in the evening light for a moment before more of the ominous weather passed over the moon again. Loren could hear a crash outside, the sound of a trashcan being knocked over as the family's old Toyota came into the driveway (Loren wasn't exactly sure if the damned thing could even be considered a car; the engine was shot, a large chunk of the bumper had fallen off, at least one of the tires were flat, and half of the windows were missing). The front door opened, and a string of gruff, angry curses could be heard as it was slammed shut.

Loren cold feel her gut tighten as her breath got stuck in her throat; her husband was home.

* * *

Comment: I really hope you enjoyed, cause I sure did enjoy writing yet. I don't expect this story to be any longer than 5 chapters (including the prologue and epilogue, if I write and epilogue) so enjoy it while you can. Oh, and please so review: review make my day. Seriously. Next chapter introduces Martha into the picture.

I'm going to do some shameless self-promotion and say that you all should definitely go check out my fanfiction blog/guide. You might find some useful information, you never know; and please keep checking it for updates. ;) The link is one my profile.


	2. Chapter 1: The Inheritance

Title: The Silver Rings

Pairing(s): None.

Rating: T

Language: Language, implied physical abuse.

Note(s): Martha's introduction. I probably should have a warned earlier that since Jack is only six months old, this story takes place approximately a year and a half before Zero Reverse since Jack was two during the accident. Additionally, I've adopted a theory that before Zero Reverse occurred, Satellite was merely an impoverished part of Domino City. The slums, if you will. Lastly, special thanks to Kelisidina for beta-ing this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Inheritance**

"Irony is the gaiety of reflection and the joy of wisdom"

--Anatole France

* * *

She hated drugstores. The white-washed walls, the flickering fluorescent lights, the filthy tile floors, (although she couldn't really complain; everything in the Satellite area was filthy) the lingering smell of artificial cherry-flavored medicine... now that she thought about it, it sounded a lot similar to a hospital, minus the cherry-flavored medicine. They didn't bother to flavor things in hospitals.

The only reason Martha ever came to the local drugstore was to see Dr. Schmitt (well, that and the free aspirin he would always give her whenever she complained she had a headache). Technically, he wasn't a real doctor; there were no doctors for miles around. There were only people like Lyman Schmitt, who didn't know a damn thing about a woman's vagina, but could certainly tell you which over-the-counter drug you needed for your diarrhea. Tonight though, she wasn't here for some aspirin; she needed something much more _important_.

"Can I take this?" asked Martha casually, holding a plain box up in the air so that Lyman could see. He furrowed his eyebrows, lifting his tired, gray eyes from the outdated health magazine he was currently engrossed in. And then, his irises widened, and Martha wondered if she was naked from the horrified look upon his face. "For a friend," she added cautiously.

They both knew she was lying (such was confirmed when she claimed shortly after that she had to use the restroom), but it at least took the sting out of it. Or so Martha hoped. Securing the bathroom stall closed, she tore open her "free sample" product: a pregnancy test. The young woman then flipped the empty box and squinted her eyes to read the instructions:

**1. Wash your hands with warm water and soap. ****  
**

**2. Remove the testing stick from its foil wrapper.  
**

**3. Sit down on the toilet.  
**

**4. Urinate directly onto the the tip of the testing stick.  
**

**5. Place the testing stick on a flat, dry surface. Wait approximately ten minutes until the urine is completely analyzed.  
**

Each step had a little picture to go with it, as if the company assumed the majority of users were too retarded to be able to read (Martha didn't know the current illiteracy rate in Japan, but even most people in the Satellite area knew how to read and write). For a moment, she found it ironic that the first step was to wash your hands; wouldn't that logically be the last step, you know, in case you accidentally peed on your hand?

If there was one thing Martha's mother had taught her, it was that patience was a virtue: but the young woman was finding it more and more difficult to resist screaming at the test to hurry the hell up. According to her wristwatch, (which probably wasn't very reliable; it was a gift from her mother on her 6th birthday, and was originally pink, but was now a burnt reddish-orange color from being left out in the sun too long. If one were to look at it closely enough, they might see the faint words "Hello Kitty" printed on it) 10 minutes had passed long ago. Martha was about to let loose all her frustration when suddenly the test clicked.

She scrambled to pick it up, but ended up accidentally dropping it on the floor and sliding it under one of the stalls. Martha cursed under breath as she got down on her hands and knees, reaching out to grab it and read it.

The result: negative.

It felt like the world itself had been lifted off her shoulders. Breathing a tremendous sigh of relief, Martha fell back against the hard tile wall, sliding down it with a big, silly grin on her face. For a moment, she'd though she would cry, she was so damn happy, but reminded herself that under no circumstances did she _ever_ cry.

After getting a handle on her emotions, Martha ventured outside of the bathroom. Lyman was still situated behind the counter, his long, thin fingers tapping the dusty surface anxiously. He glanced up at her as soon as she entered, his ashy eyes now wide awake and full of worry.

"So, what was the result?"

Martha smirked, shifting her weight to her left leg as she put her hands on her hips.

"I don't what you're talking about," she replied nonchalantly. "I just had to pee."

* * *

The old 'Open' neon sign flickered until it died as Lyman shut off the lights and fumbled with his keys to lock up the store. Martha politely waited off to the side, leaning up against the decrepit brick wall. She was idly playing with her own set of keys, car keys to be precise. She only had one keychain, a flat, plastic rectangle that read, "Damn, I'm good."

Stormy clouds had gathered in the sky above, and the ambient air reeked of rainfall. Occasionally, one of the dark clouds would instantly brighten with lightening, though no thunder could be heard. But other than that, the only source of light was a nearby streetlamp--the moon had been completely concealed by the storm.

"You sure you don't want to spend the night at my place?" asked Lyman kindly. Martha knew his offer had no sexual connotations attached. He was too good of a guy for that. In fact, he usually went as far to make this offer every single day, to which she would always politely decline. Martha wasn't one to easily accept his loving charity. She knew there was no way she could pay him back.

"No thanks," she replied with a smile, twirling her keys on her finger, "my good ol' Volkswagen is just enough for me." 'Old' was perhaps too kind a word; it probably was once a pretty blue truck, with nice seats and a smooth-running engine... but now, most of the paint had peeled off, leaving a gray shell behind with cracked windows, shoddy leather seats, and consistent problems with the car's ignition (Martha had to cross her fingers every time she tried to start the car).

"Well, okay then," said Lyman hesitantly. "Just remember that my home is always open for you."

"Yeah, yeah, shut-up," replied the young woman, smiling as she rolled her eyes.

A light rain began to fall shortly after Lyman left. Martha locked herself up in her truck for shelter from the storm. Her stomach growled fiercely with hunger, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since that morning. Martha reached into her cup holder, which held all of her change, and grabbed a fistful of coins. She counted only 116 ¥, not even enough to buy a small burger at McDonalds. She cursed under her breath and threw the money back into the cup holder.

She had yet to tell Lyman that she had lost her job--if she did, he would simply hire her at the drug store, which she couldn't allow. Though he never really talked about his financial status, Martha knew that he at least didn't have the means to pay for an employee (besides, he had already showered too much kindness upon her). She had previously worked at a grocery store as a bagger, but was laid off for the same reason: the company simply couldn't afford her. At least, that's what she was told. Martha still couldn't comprehend _why_, however. For God's sake, she was only paid 300 ¥ an hour.

Martha sighed, but concluded that there was nothing she could do about it now. She climbed into the backseat and pulled out a quilt--her mother's quilt--and laid down to go to sleep. The truck had taken her nearly 3 years to save up for; and she could honestly say it was the best buy she ever made. After her mother passed away and Martha could no longer pay their apartment's rent, the truck became her home. It was an unpleasant adjustment, but she had learned how to get along with it just fine--even if the damn thing barely ever worked.

The rain was growing heavier as water pounded on the windows, leaking in through the cracks. Martha scrunched her nose in discontent as a single droplet fell upon her face. She made a mental note that once she got another job, she would be sure to save up and replace the windows. For the meantime, she pulled the quilt further over her head and shut her eyes to go to sleep. But suddenly, the sound of knocking on the side of her car arose her.

Surprised, she sat up and saw that there was a woman standing outside of her truck, banging her hand on the window. Normally, Martha would've been very upset at this--who the _hell_ had the nerve to do something so rude? She dismissed this thought quickly though when she saw the state of this poor young woman: she was completely soaked to the bone, and her long, blonde hair was highlighted with a mixture of mud and blood. She had beautiful blue eyes, or at least, what Martha assumed were _once_ beautiful blue eyes. Her left eye was swollen and black, trickling with blood. Both of her hands looked severely injured, although one held a thick mess of blankets close to her chest.

"You need me to drive you to the hospital, miss?" asked Martha after climbing into the front seat and rolling down the window to speak to the woman. Martha pushed her keys into the ignition, presuming that the woman would say yes, and then silently prayed that the car would actually start. However, the woman merely shook her head, and held out the bundle of blankets to Martha, who realized that it was actually a baby.

"Take it," said the mother pleadingly.

Martha eyes widened and she shook her head. "I don't want a baby," she replied, almost stupidly. "If I wanted a baby bad enough, I would just marry Dr. Schmitt. I could have babies pourin' out of my ears then." The woman seemed to ignore her though as she set the infant in Martha's lap.

"Please," she begged. Martha just sat there, staring at the mother in shock; she couldn't believe this woman was simply trying to just give her a child, like it was some kind of gift. The mother touched the child's face tenderly, caressing its cheek before turning her head away. She seemed to be staring at something, or someone. Whatever it was, it appeared invisible to Martha as she craned her neck to try and catch a glimpse of what the woman was looking at.

With one last loving glance at her child, the woman left, wandering off into the distance. Martha watched in awe for a bit before she finally found her grip on reality. Opening her car door, she ran out with the baby in her arms and cried, "W-w-wait!" But it was too late--the woman was long gone. Martha stopped and stood there, dumbstruck. She couldn't believe her luck (or rather, her lack thereof). She eventually realized, however, that by standing in the rain like an idiot, she was just getting herself and the baby wet.

Martha returned to her car and set the baby in the passenger seat. She placed both hands on the steering wheel and glanced up at her reflection in the rear view mirror--and in that moment, became convinced that God hated her. God hated her with every fiber of His being. Martha cursed loudly and slammed her head down on the wheel, frustrated. The baby simply stared at her with violet eyes wide and full of curiosity.

* * *

Comments: I know most of you are thinking that this sounds _nothing_ like Martha. That's because this is taking place approximately 18 years before the actual series: Martha is in her mid-twenties, and she has a lot of growing up to do (which is part of the plot of the story). FYI, Dr. Schmitt is a real character from the show: he's the one who performs surgery on Yusei (But I will call him Lyman since he apparently has no canon first name). I may end up doing a sort of one-sided Martha/Lyman pairing.

Hey, look, more shameless self-promotion. Check out my FF blog for updates and FF guides. Link is on my profile.


	3. Chapter 2: The Engravings

Title: The Silver Rings

Pairing(s): None.

Rating: T

Warning(s): Language and implied physical abuse.

Note(s): Thank you so much for the lovely reviews; it really pleases me when people will actually pick apart the plot and find the deeper meaning. Thanks to Kelisidina for beta-ing.

* * *

**Chapter 2: The Engravings**

"If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am not for others, what am I? And if not now, when?"

--Rabbi Hillel

* * *

"Are you a boy or a girl?" wondered Martha aloud, although she felt stupid for doing so; the child obviously wouldn't answer her. Martha had no idea how old he or she was, but whatever their exact age, they were no where near old enough to know how to talk. She at least knew that much.

After much struggling and cursing and repeatedly turning her keys in the ignition, Martha had eventually gotten her old Volkswagen truck to start (for the first time in _days_, it seemed). Shortly after she had come to 'inherit' the baby in the vacant parking lot, Martha had decided that it would be in the child's best interest to spend the night in an actual house, with an actual bed and an actual air conditioning system (her truck didn't have one of those fancy systems that would tell you what the temperature was, so she had an old thermometer taped to the window. It wasn't exactly accurate to say in the least, but it gave Martha a pretty decent idea of what the temperature was at least _close to_; and at the moment, it was _close to_ freezing).

Thus, Martha had resolved that she would have to get over her own pride and finally take Lyman up on his offer, even if it killed her (hell, then she wouldn't be responsible for the baby). However, the young woman also had decided that there was absolutely _no_ way she was going to keep this baby. She was stretched on cash as it was, and had deemed herself unfit to mother children long ago (this because she absolutely _hated_ it when a baby started screaming bloody murder until it's face turned blue; although, she had to admit, this one was relatively quiet). Martha had already formulated a plan in her head: she would wake up tomorrow morning, use her last bit of cash to fill her truck up with fuel, and drive all the way to the nearest Security station to turn the baby in. Then she was free again.

Martha lifted one hand to rub her eyes, exhausted. She checked her sunburned Hello Kitty wristwatch, which read 1:36 a.m. Martha pursed her lips; it was later than she originally thought. The chances of Lyman even being awake at this hour were slim to none; still, she couldn't just allow the child to brave the night in an old truck. The last thing she wanted was to wake up in the morning to discover that the poor thing had frozen to death (well, maybe that was a _little_ dramatic, but it could fall ill with pneumonia or some other kind of serious sickness).

Suddenly, she felt the Volkswagen begin to sway on the slick road. Martha gritted her teeth; it was now cold to the point where water was freezing. She pressed down on the brake to slow the truck, but it only made the situation worse; the wheels locked, and the young women lost control as the truck started sliding on the icy road. "Shit," Martha swore loudly, letting go of the brake and cranking the wheel toward the direction of the slide. Her saving endeavor succeeded as the car made a spun only once before coming to a screeching halt.

"Son of a-" she began, recognizing the sound. She put her car into park, but didn't turn it off (doing so would only cause more frustration later when and if she got back on the road) and got out of the car to check the damage. It was exactly as she feared: the tire had popped, probably from a combination of its age and the friction produced by the slide. Worse, she knew that there was no spare.

She was stranded.

If there was ever going to be a moment in her life that she actually _would_ cry, it would be then. Martha stared blankly at the busted tire before picking herself up and returning to the car. The baby had fallen asleep. She would've thought it was dead if it weren't for the fact that its little chest kept rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern. Watching him (or her) was almost calming to the frazzled woman. Martha reached into the backseat and pulled up her quilt; she supposed that if she was stuck here, then the most important thing would be to keep the baby warm until morning.

The child whined as it was stirred from its slumber. Martha ignored the whimper, and extracted the baby from the mess of damp blankets it was tied up in. She then settled the child on her lap and wrapped the dryer quilt around it before pushing her seat back to mock a bed

"Go back to sleep," she mumbled to the baby, closing her eyes.

It didn't. Soon, the smell of fresh urine filled the car. Martha scrunched her nose and opened one eyelid to look at the child, who was staring right back at her with big, innocent eyes. She groaned and sat up once again.

"You're more trouble than you're worth," she said, picking the child up and removing the quilt from it (Martha was actually very impressed with herself at this moment; that quilt had taken her mother nearly 3 months to make, and in essence, was Martha's most prized possession. If she were perhaps less sleepy, she might have killed the poor thing for pissing all over it). As she now considered how she would now keep the baby warm, a pair of headlights lit up the highway.

Martha glanced behind her to see that a car was approaching, although presumed with a pessimistic attitude that it would just drive past them without a second glance. She was pleasantly surprised, however, when the car slowed pulled up beside her Volkswagen. She laid the child back into the passenger seat and stepped out of her truck. The driver, a young man (probably around Lyman's age, Martha hypothesized) rolled down his window and ducked his head outside.

"You need some help, ma'am?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled by his thick mustache.

Her luck had fluctuated several times that day; she had gone from believing God loved her, to that He hated her, to that He loved her again.

* * *

"She sure is a cute little girl," commented the man, Masato, adjusting his glasses to get a better look at the baby. "Doesn't look much like you, though." They were well on their way at that point; Masato didn't have a spare tire either, so he suggested she load up his car with all of her possessions, and then lock up the Volkswagen for the night (Martha joked that it wouldn't be necessary; someone couldn't steal it if they wanted to). He then offered for her to stay the night at his home with he and his wife (of whom Martha was almost disappointed to hear about; she had to admit, he was a relatively attractive man, which was probably the reason why he was married in the first place). Martha refused at first, but he insisted, saying that she and the baby would be no trouble at all.

Apparently, he had been on his way back from a trip to the inner city that day when he spotted the Volkswagen. He explained that when he and his wife were first married, all they could afford was an old, run-down home in the Satellite area. But his business as a clocksmith was apparently doing quite well, (Martha couldn't imagine how many people needed their clock fixed, but she didn't question it) and he had saved enough money to buy a new home in the more respectable part of Domino city.

"She's not mine," replied Martha, bouncing the now wide-awake child on her knee. "Actually, I don't know whether she's a she. I haven't gotten the proper chance to check." Masato glanced at her, surprised.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I guess you could say she, or he, is adopted," replied Martha, shrugging. "To be honest, I don't even know her name or anything. She was just kind of... _given_ to me, just like that." Martha decided it was best to leave out the rest of the details; it wasn't right to drag other people into your own business. Masato cocked his brow at her.

"Well, I'll be damned," he replied, scratching his head. "You'd think babies were just something you could buy off the shelf if people are just giving 'em away."

Within minutes, they arrived at Masato's house. It was a modest size, although Martha realized that their actual living space must have been minuscule; the building served as a joint business-family home. A single window on the second floor was lit, the yellow glow a beacon at the end of a very long day. Worry seemed to cross the man's face for a moment, although Martha couldn't have been sure; it was too dark to tell.

"The guest room is on the second floor, the last room to left down the hallway. Next to it is the bathroom," he muttered under his breath as he parked the car. "You can go ahead and give the little one a bath. I'll bring your stuff upstairs later, but for the moment, you'll have to excuse me." He then very quickly exited the vehicle and went inside. Martha stared for a moment, and wondered why he such in a hurry, and then if perhaps something was wrong. She bit her lip, and hoped she wasn't intruding upon the couple at a bad time.

Stepping inside, Martha felt like she had entered into God's personal time cabinet. The whole room was filled with assortment of different kind of clocks: alarm clocks, digital clocks, wall clocks, wristwatches, cuckoo clocks, novelty clocks, antique clocks, and even an old, towering grandfather clock that was hidden away in the corner, collecting dust. And all of them, Martha swore, were set at a different time. Not one millisecond went unfilled with the sound of a "tick" or a "tock." She was thankful for Masato's kindness, but she felt if this were a permanent stay, she'd eventually go mad.

Martha carried the child upstairs and followed Masato's directions to the bathroom. She had to be honest, spending the night at a complete stranger's house was starting to become an uncomfortable concept for her; she felt as though she was a thief, wandering through the home of an unsuspecting family, seeking for any valuable or desirable object to slip under her shirt.

Martha turned the bathtub's faucet on, allowing a steady stream of warm water to come pouring into the tub. While she waited for the tub to be filled, Martha grasped the zipper on the back of baby's wet pajamas, pulling it down. The child, as if by instinct, wriggled its way out of the jumper the rest of the way, and Martha discovered its true gender: a boy (shortly thereafter, Martha wondered that if perhaps he was been offended when Masato and she referred to him as a girl during their earlier conversation).

Additionally, she found that hanging around his little neck was a sort of necklace with two, silver rings hanging loosely on the end of a few threads of old rope, like a pair of swans swimming on swampy waters. Martha had only seen real silver in TV or magazine ads, and so, she was enamored by their mysterious beauty, glimmering under the yellow lighting. Or at least, she would have been if it weren't for what else she discovered under the boy's pajamas.

Bruises. All over his body.

They were an assortment of colors: purple, black, red, yellow, and any combination of the four. If it weren't for the gravity of the situation, she might have admired them for their fantastic hues. But instead, she felt sick to her stomach; Martha set the child on the floor, who thankfully could sit up on his own, and turned to bend over the toilet.

Now she understood why the women had so desperately tried to give up her precious son.

* * *

Martha figured warm water must have a strange effect on babies: almost immediately after she finished bathing the boy, he fell asleep. His eyes didn't even flutter open when she dried him off with a handtowel. She took mental note of this new discovery, just for future reference if she ever needed a quick way to calm a restless child.

In the guest room, she found that all of her belongings had been set neatly on the corner of the bed. The only possession that wasn't accounted for was her quilt, although a small sticky note from Masato informed her that it was in the wash (Martha realized with some embarrassment that she had never even told him that the baby had peed all over it; meaning, it was something that he had so graciously discovered by himself).

Martha picked out an old, raggedy white T-shirt of hers for the baby to wear throughout the night, in exchange for the jumper he had wet earlier. She didn't know a whole lot about kids, but she remembered hearing somewhere that if kids sit in their own urine for too long, they could get a rash. Girls could get a yeast infection (thankfully, Martha didn't have to worry about that with this one). The young woman set the naked child down on the mattress and, with a much care as she could, pulled the shirt over his head. His bruises didn't seem to bother him so much during his bath, but Martha wasn't about to take any risks in furthering this poor child's pain, past or present.

After setting him down on the pillow to sleep, Martha returned to the bathroom. It had been a long time since she had taken a nice shower; she usually had to go to the free public bathhouse, where the quality of water was equitable to that of a lake (ever since she was evicted from her apartment, it was her only choice, other than a few occasional showers at Lyman's house).

Martha turned the knob to the left, and like it had with the bath faucet, water came violently spewing out of the shower head. She stuck her hand under the stream and found it too cold for her liking, so she decided to wait a few minutes until it heated up. She leaned up against the counter, and suddenly, felt the length of the very long night taking its toll on her: her head was pounding, her eyes were burning with sleep, her feet were sore and swollen. Every single bone in her body ached with pain, and she felt it claw all the way down to her marrow, eating at her slowly.

She closed her eyes and sighed, thinking about how nice it was that she had the opportunity to sleep in a real bed tonight. Screw new windows, what she really wanted was an actual house that she could return to at night. Perhaps after she took the baby down to Security, she would go job-hunting again. Her luck as of late had see-sawed between good and bad for the last few hours, but maybe it would take another positive turn in the morning.

Suddenly, Martha felt something under her hand: the rings. She forgot she had removed them from the boy to bathe him, and had set them on the counter. She scrunched her fingers together, grasping the necklace in her hand as she brought it up to her face. They were truly beautiful; Martha had assumed they were wedding rings, even though silver was an uncommon metal for such a piece of jewelry. She supposed it made sense though. There weren't many people wealthy enough in the area to be able to afford something like gold or platinum. In fact, wedding bands were altogether considered a luxury where she lived.

As Martha played with the pair of rings in her hand, she noticed that there was something written on the inner circle of each ring. She stopped and looked closer to examine them. In each ring, the bold and definite name "Atlas" was engraved.

* * *

Comment(s): Can you guess who Masato's wife is?


	4. Chapter 3: The Name

Title: The Silver Rings

Pairing(s): Interpret as you will.

Rating: T

Warning(s): Language.

Note(s): I apologize for the _very _long delay, my life has been insanely busy for the past month and a half. Prom, choir concerts, AP tests, drawing on AP tests, yearbook distribution, vacations, camping, choir fundraisers, and the dreaded SAT. Not to mention my online summer school classes. Ick.

* * *

**Chapter 3: The Name**

"The name we give to something shapes our attitude to it"

-Katherine Patterson

* * *

Martha found the night to be very restless.

She constantly tossed and turned in bed, slipping in and out of consciousness. When she was drawn from her sleep, her eyes kept falling to the child that laid beside her, whom did not stir once during the evening. Martha was both envious and awed by this, wondering how he could rest so peacefully when such colorful (and painful-looking, she silently added) bruises adorned his little body. Around 7:00 a.m., she gave up trying to fall back asleep.

Martha literally rolled out of bed, and then immediately began looking for a comb. She had first fallen asleep while her hair was still damp, so she imagined her hair looked something similar to the appearance of caveman in those raggedy old textbooks she had before she dropped out of high school. Martha found her comb amongst the possessions of hers that she had accidentally pushed off the bed with her feet throughout the night.

Slumping against the frame of the bed, Matha began to force the teeth of the comb through her hair, attempting to tame her tangled locks (her pained scalp from the incident would remind her to never fall asleep with wet hair again). After she dressing herself and deeming her appearance acceptable, Martha gathered up all of her possessions (including the sleeping baby) and headed downstairs.

It was early enough that she _thought _she could sneak out of the house without further troubling Masato and his wife; she would find a payphone and call someone to come replace the tire on her Volkswagen. Then she could be on her way to Security HQ without even bothering Masato once, erasing herself from his life.

This thought was crushed as soon as Martha reached the first floor, however, as the sweet smell of breakfast greeted her. Martha closed her eyes and inhaled the air in deeply. Pancakes and syrup. She had not been blessed with such a treat for years.

"Why, you must be Martha," said a voice suddenly, approaching Martha. "Masato told me you were staying the night." Martha opened a single eye to see what she assumed to be Masato's wife for the first time. She then felt her breath get caught in her throat for a moment, seeing how beautiful she was. Long dark hair, fair white skin, and chestnut brown eyes... Not to mention _super_ pregnant. At _least_ seven or eight months along.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I should introduce myself," she said after a little laugh, holding out her hand. "My name is Zora."

"Martha. It's nice to meet you," replied Martha stiffly. "Er... but you already know that, I guess."

_"God, this is awkward,_" she thought, wanting to leave now more than ever. Her skin was crawling, and she told herself it was because she had trespassed on the family's charity for too long (which was partially true, but there were _darker_ emotions that lingered in her heart).

"Please, you should join me for breakfast," offered Zora kindly. "I hope you're not allergic to wheat; Masato is. I never get to make pancakes or anything of the sort anymore. Wheat makes his throat would swell up and croak like a frog. But he's out today so I'm making a bit of a treat for myself."

"No thanks," Martha politely declined. The child, who was now finally starting awaken, squirmed in her arms. His violet eyes blinked and squinted, looking up at Martha longingly.

"No, no; I insist," said Zora, touching Martha's shoulder lightly and guiding her into the kitchen. "I made far too much for myself to eat. Besides, I think the little one would enjoy a little treat - that is, if he's old enough to eat solid food." Zora adjusted her glasses and more closely examined the boy, particularly his mouth.

"Hm, no teeth, I see. No matter, if the food is cut up into little pieces, I'm sure he could swallow everything just fine." With that said, Zora turned away and went back to the stove to finish preparing her meal. Martha set her things aside and sat down with the baby in her lap, sinking into her chair. Her eyes began to wander around the kitchen, examining the floral blue wallpaper, matching curtains, and overall clean appearance. Oddly, there was a stack of CD's placed off to the side on the table.

Martha squinted at them, and discovered most of them were by American artists she had never even heard of. The one name she recognized was "Michael Jackson," whom had been, and still was, a very popular artist in Japan. Her mother had been a huge fan; she didn't speak of a lick of English though, so Martha often wondered how she could enjoy his work so much when she couldn't understand the lyrics. Martha liked him too, but she at least had a fair grip on the English language, which was probably why her mother asked her to translate his songs all the time.

Remembering this brought back a flush of memories from her childhood, when her mother would get so caught up in his music she would stand up and dance on the old (yet surprisingly sturdy) coffee table like a crazy woman. She would try to sing along too, although the words came out as a jumbled mess of Japanese and English. As a teenager, Martha was horribly embarrassed by this. Five years later, she was up dancing on the table next to her.

"My father was American," said Zora suddenly, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Martha was looking at her collection of CD's. "He was a Mormon, and was called on a mission to Japan for two years. He tried to convert my mother, but ended up falling in love with her instead."

Martha's head perked up in surprise. "O-oh, I see..." she said hesitantly. Zora turned around and smiled, a plate with a large stack of pancakes in her hands.

"Well, eat up; there's plenty to be had," she said, setting down the plate on the table before seating herself. Martha looked unsure of herself as she carefully took two pancakes and set them on her plate. She immediately took Zora's advice and started slicing them up into tiny little pieces as she balanced the baby on her lap.

"Might I ask what his name is?" asked Zora, pouring syrup on the pancakes she had taken for herself. Martha raised her brow in surprise.

"He's not mine," she said flatly. "I just-"

"-Oh, I know the whole story. Masato told me," Zora clarified. "I just was wondering if you had named him since, y'know, you can't go around callin' him 'baby' forever."

"I don't plan on keepin' him forever... Could you please pass the syrup?" Martha asked suddenly, having finished slaughtering the one poor pancake. Zora responded by sliding the bottle over to Martha, who began to drench the massacred breakfast with the sticky substance. "Anyway... I plan on turning him into Security; they'll know what to do with him better than I ever will." Martha stabbed her fork into the sweet, thick mush of pancake and syrup and carefully fed a small bite to baby. Zora pursed her lips together.

"I think you underestimate your abilities. I mean, look at you! You're a natural!" she exclaimed, referring to how excellent Martha was handling the little boy. A glob of syrup dribbled down his chin after his third bite. Martha looked repulsed.

"I don't think so," she replied, grabbing a napkin and wiping his face. Zora sighed and took a bite of her much more normal-looking stack of pancakes.

"Just... please, consider it."

"Consider what?"

"Consider keeping him."

"Oh, no," replied Martha, shaking her head. "I don't have a _clue_ as to how to raise a baby. I'd end up dropping him on his head, or accidentally drowning him when giving him a bath-"

"-You seem to be doing just fine now," Zora observed. Martha chuckled half-heartedly.

"There's only so much damage I can do in less than 24 hours," she joked lightly. The baby gurgled and turned his head away as Martha tried to him feed him another mouthful of the pancake monster, indicating that he was no longer hungry. She sighed and set the fork down with no interest in eating it either. "... You know, you seem dead-set against me not giving him up... why?"

Zora examined Martha silently, carefully. Her eyes glazed over slightly, her tone softening. "It just makes me nervous..." she began, her voice uncannily even. "... You won't know where that child will end up, or who will be charged with the responsibility of caring for it. And, well... I don't know if you've noticed, but there's quite a few shady characters in these parts. And no way they'll send a child from here to the intercity. It just doesn't happen."

There was an uncomfortable, sickening feeling that rose up in Martha's chest, but she quickly pushed it down. "How do you know this?" she asked, almost sounding suspicious.

Zora pushed herself back in her seat, placing her hand on her large round belly and rubbing it. Her expression was fairly unreadable, but to Martha, she almost looked... nervous. "Oh, I... uh..." Zora seemed to struggle for words. "I once li- no, I mean, I've just... heard things. But trust me when I say I know all of this is true."

Martha remained silent, unsure of what to say. The baby began to drool all over her jeans, although she didn't seem to mind as she ran her dark fingers through his wispy, golden locks. The edge of a particularly nasty looking bruise just barely peeked over the edge of the T-shirt Martha had given him to wear.

"Besides, it's basic logic," continued Zora, returning to normal. "I mean, I'd rather trust the welfare of a child in the hands of an uncertain, but capable young woman than with a bunch of strangers who would lock him up inside some rat-infested orphanage."

Martha still looked unsure. "Well, when you put it that way... " She was a cut off by a sharp, but loud car horn from outside of the house. Zora grinned with a mischievous, yet excited gleam in her eyes.

"Masato must be home," she said, slowly and awkwardly rising from her seat on account of her pregnant belly. Zora quickly left the kitchen to head outside, and Martha got the feeling she was supposed to follow. She secured the baby in her arms, stood up, and hurried after Zora. She stepped out of the already open front door, immediately being blinded by the intensity of the sun. She squinted and could see Masato seated in a car that looked very much like her Volkswagen.

No, it _was_ her Volkswagen.

Martha gasped in a mixture of both delight and surprise, and rushed to meet Masato as he stepped out of her car to stand beside his wife.

"How did you-?"

"-I may only be a clocksmith," he cut her off, winking, "but I know a thing or two about cars, too." There was a nervous, burning sensation in the pit of Martha's stomach... although she didn't feel like throwing up, she felt like throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly. And God knows, she definitely was _not_ a huggy person.

"I... I don't even know how to thank you..." she said breathlessly, grinning. Martha had never felt both so stupid and so enchanted at the same time. Masato flashed his gorgeous smile at her.

"Your expression alone is enough thanks for me," he chuckled, patting her shoulder. "Now, I suppose you'll be wantin' to get a move on. The drive to Security Headquarters is a long one." Martha and Zora both looked a little put off by this statement, but as Masato opened the car door for Martha in a very silly, but charming sort of way, the two woman couldn't help but laugh at his childish antics.

"Oh, Masato darling, her things are still inside the house," said Zora, suddenly remembering this as Martha seated herself inside her car, setting the baby in the passenger seat as she had done the night before. Masato nodded and disappeared inside. Zora went to greet Martha at the window.

"I can't thank you enough," said Martha with a hesitant smile.

"Well, it's as Masato said: your expression alone is enough thanks, to the both of us," she said before ducking her head further inside, very quickly growing serious. "By the way... if you ever need help with anything... well, you know where we live." Martha simply nodded. By "anything," she was quite sure Zora meant the baby seated next to her.

Masato returned with all of Martha's possessions gathered up in his arms. "You should consider getting a suitcase," he joked as he opened the car door on the passenger's side and placed everything between Martha and the little boy. She laughed nervously and nodded.

Martha pushed her keys into the ignition and was greatly pleased to find that the engine started up with relative ease. Before she put the car into reverse, she looked out the open window and directly at Zora. Their eyes locked immediately.

"His name is Jack, by the way," she said in a very odd voice. Zora looked confused.

"What?"

"The baby; you asked me if I had named him earlier." Slowly, the car began to back up. "His name is Jack." The old Volkswagen was now fully out of the driveway. "God bless you both," she said before cranking the wheel and driving off.

* * *

Comment(s): Yes, finally done with this chapter. But there's more to come... *wink wink nudge nudge*


	5. Chapter 4: The Lie

Title: The Silver Rings.

Pairing(s): Interpret as you will.

Rating: T

Warning(s): Language.

Note(s): I know, it's been over a year since I've touched this. Please forigve my extreme ADHD-ness in completely ignoring this. I've really enjoyed writing this so far and I fully intend to finish it.

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Lie**

"A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on."

- Winston Churchill

* * *

As a child, Martha had an unusual way of looking at the world.

Once while out shopping with her mother, she asked if she could visit the new candy store that had just opened. Her mother reminded her that they didn't have enough money to spend on candy, but Martha insisted that was OK, because she could taste the candy with eyes and nose and never have to eat it. Her mother was hesitant (probably because she suspected her daughter was planning of thieving some of the sweets) but let her go anyway.

Going inside, Martha felt like she was Alice falling into Wonderland. The sights, the smells, the colors, the adults with grinning faces and children with rotting teeth were too much for her to handle; yet she loved it. She stopped and stared at all the wonderful candies and gummies and chocolates, imagining herself chewing on them, tasting their sweetness as she swallowed them... it wasn't as effective as, you know, _actually eating them_ but it came pretty close.

Then, she stopped to watch a young teenage boy make fresh caramel taffy. She stood alongside other children her age, watching the boy beat the taffy against a wooden knob, stretching it beyond it's limits, then beating it against the knob again. Somehow, Martha found enjoying this treat much more difficult. She couldn't help but wonder what it felt like to be pulled two ways, torn between two matters.

Eighteen years later, she understood.

Martha's hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. She was so damn angry and confused, she couldn't think straight; yesterday, turning the baby into Security seemed like the easy and the most sensible thing to do- she would no longer be burdened by him and his blanket-pissing self. She would be free to go back to the old way of things; sleeping in her Volkswagon night after night, picking coins up off the street to feed herself and mooching medication off Lyman whenever she had menstrual cramps. What a life.

But then she woke up this morning and dammit, Zora had to start talking about how horrible government-run orphanages are, trying to convince her to keep the baby. Like hell she would. He would be better off being raised by a pack of wolves than by her.

"Jack, stop fussing," she ordered as he wriggled around in the passenger seat. Martha knew babies were legally supposed to be towed around in carseats while on the road, but, seeing as she was lacking one, had improvised using the adult sear buckle to try and strap him in. "You'll hit your head and die and I'll be accused of negligence. And I am _not_ going to jail again."

Jack, of course, ignored her. Martha sighed. The sooner she could get rid of him the better.

She made a left turn, deciding she would drop by Lyman's drugstore before heading off to security headquarters. All this stress had given her one massive headache and she needed a couple doses of aspirin before hitting the road again. As Martha approached the lone drugstore in the middle of nowhere, she was shocked to see the place was completely surrounded by police cruisers. And when she said completely surrounded, she meant _completely surrounded_.

Her first thought, "_What in the hell is going on?_"

Her second thought, "_Well, at least I don't have to drive to the intercity; I can just pawn Jack off on one of the snot-faced rookie officers here_."

Martha parked her car away from the police cruisers and stepped outside. She then went to the other side and unbuckled Jack, picking him up and balancing him on her left hip. Lastly, she locked her car. It seemed ridiculous, knowing there were dozens of security officers around- yet, there was always this part of her that was distrustful of them. And why shouldn't she be? After all, they were distrustful of anyone from the Satellite area.

"Hey, officer," she called out. At least five men turned around. She rolled her eyes; well, she should have seen that one coming. "What's going on?" The men grumbled to one another for awhile, and Martha very quickly became annoyed. It was like she wasn't even there! She cleared her throat loudly and she began tapping her foot, impatient.

"Excuse me," she began a little more forcefully. "But I believe I asked a question." One of the bigger men pushed a younger officer toward her. The officer, who looked like he was just barely out of high school, turned his head and glared at the older man for a brief moment. When he faced Martha, however, he straightened up.

"Officer Ushio at your service, ma'm," he said. His dark eyes were focused, unwavering. Martha raised her brow.

"Officer Ushio, eh?" she said. He nodded.

"Well officer," she said, coating her voice with brown sugar. "Would you be so kind to tell me what in the world is going on?" His lips tightened.

"I'm sorry, ma'm, but that's classified information." Martha's shoulder sagged; well, so much for that.

"Officer, I work here, and I think I deserve to know why the _hell_ half of the police force is surrounding my place of employment." Martha was surprised at how easily the lie tumbled out of her mouth. She sounded so convincing, she'd almost believe it herself. Ushio seemed to hesitate.

"Er... Well, I'm, uh, not really supposed to say anything, but..." He stumbled on his words, no longer able to keep up his professional front. "... there was a body found nearby this morning. Dead, beaten. Murdered last night, we think she was. Don't have any leads, so far. No witnesses either." Martha's blood ran cold. A murder? Here? Last night? She immediately thought of the poor and bloodied blonde woman who so desperately forced Jack into her possession.

She swallowed.

"What... What does she look like?" she asked shakily. Ushio shrugged.

"Haven't seen her for myself, so I wouldn't know," he replied. Martha nodded, feeling a little dizzy. She mentally slapped herself; no, she was not going to let herself get sick in front of some wet-behind-the-ears rookie. She sucked in her breath and tried to regain her composure.

"Yes, thank you," she brushed past Ushio and headed into the drugstore. Lyman was sitting behind the counter, as he always was, though he looked as sick as he felt.

"Martha!" he yelped, practically jumping when he saw her. He ran from behind the counter and embraced her tightly, which caused great discomfort for Jack. He wriggled around in Martha's arms, whining as he did. "Thank God... Thank God your alive..." Martha felt an intense wave of heat and embarassment wash over her; she pushed Lyman off, turning her cheek toward him slightly.

"'Course I'm alive, you idiot. You didn't think-" she faltered. "Lyman... Are you crying? Don't you dare start cryin'. I ain't worth it." Lyman paid little attention to her words, wiping away the fat tears that had welled up in his gray eyes.

"When they interviewed me, they told me someone had been murdered... and when they said it was a woman... God, I was so scared." His voice shook as he spoke. The edges around Martha's eyes softened and she tightened her grip on Jack.

"Hey, it's OK," she said gently, forcing a smile. "I'm here and I'm OK, so you don't have to cry anymore." It took a little bit, but he finally was able to calm down. He sat down and rubbed his eyes, ridding himself of any rebellious tears that still threatened falling. Martha stood by awkward, bouncing Jack on her hip as she did.

"Care to explain?" he asked once he noticed the blonde baby. Normally, he would have been more surprised and disturbed by the image of Martha actually caring for child, but at the moment, he was far too worn-out to make a fuss about it. Martha shrugged.

"Long story; I'll explain later, after you're feeling better. And preferably when there aren't a thousand security officers surrounding us," she mumbled. "Anyway, I have to ask: does that offer for staying at your house still stand?" Before he could answer, a gruff looking officer entered the store and interrupted their conversation.

"Excuse me," the officer said, unceremoniously lighting up a cigarette. Martha shot him a nasty look; it was bad enough that he was smoking inside someone else's business, but it was even worse that he was doing it in the presence of a young child. "Heard you had another employee who was here last night. I need to talk to her and see if they say anything." Lyman looked confused, knowing he didn't have another employee. Martha stepped forward, saving him the grief.

"I'm his employee, sir," she said plainly. Lyman crossed his arms and eyed her warily. Martha grinned sheepishly.

"Alright miss, I'm gonna need to interview you." His looked at Lyman. "In private." The drugstore owner got the hint and left. Martha sat down where he formerly was, setting Jack down on her lap. The officer exhaled a breath of smoke.

"The kid don't look much like you."

"That's 'cause he looks like his father," she lied. The officer raised his brow, but didn't push the subject further.

"I'm Detective Ono," he said, offering out his hand. Martha ignored the gesture.

"Let's just get this over with, detective," she replied coldly. If he was offended, it didn't show.

"Very well." He pulled up a chair and sat across from her. "So, what's your name?"

"Martha Stewart," she replied without missing a beat.

"Very funny." Martha pursed her lips; he obviously had no sense of humor.

"My actual name is Martha Saito." The detective pulled out a pen an paper and wrote this down.

"So, Miss Saito," he began casually, "see anything suspicious last night?" Her gut tightened; if there was a time in her life she needed to tell the truth, it was now. As much as she hated security, as angry and upset as she was...

"Not a thing, sir."

* * *

That evening, Martha and Jack ended up taking residence in the guest room at Lyman's house. She had put Jack to sleep a couple of hours earlier, and he barely stirred as he laid beside her in bed. Martha was still awake, however, doing some research on Lyman's dinosaur-aged laptop.

"Piece of junk,' she mumbled angrily, which was followed by a string of colorful profanities as the internet crashed again. She was just about ready to give up, but in a last-ditch effort, tried rebooting the computer before connecting the internet again. Martha grinned and mentally patted herself on the back when the Google toolbar popped up, ready for use. Her first search: _foster care in Domino City._

She got several hits and immediately got to work. Though she couldn't quite understand why, Zora's pleadings for her to raise Jack herself and keep him away from the government-run orphanages kept had nagging at her in the back of her mind all day long. She supposed she needed to give herself reassurance that maybe there would be a nice family out there who would adopt Jack and take good care of him. _(Only 17% of children placed in satellite area orphanges are adopted)._ And if not, then he'd probably do just fine growing up in foster care.

_(Only 48% of children who grow up in foster care receive a high school diploma. Of that, only 2% will attend college)._

_(34% will become parents at a young age)._

_(52% struggle with unemployment after they turn 18)._

This was not pleasing her.

_(26% will be homeless in their lifetime)._

There was a knock at the door_._ _(31% of children suffer physical abuse in foster care)._ Martha immediately shut off the laptop.

"Come in." Lyman hesitantly opened the door and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. If it were anyone else, Martha would have immediately become suspicious of their intentions.

"So," he began, sitting on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake Jack, "when were you planning on telling me about him?" Martha sighed; she supposed now was as good a time as ever.

"He was given to me."

"He was... _given_ to you?"

"Yup," she said, nodding. "Like a Christmas present."

"By who?"

"Dunno."

"Kind of an important detail."

"Yeah, yeah..." Martha looked away. "Couldn't really say no though. The poor girl was stuck between a rock and a hard place."

"What do you mean?" Martha remained silent for a long moment, before bringing her eyes up to look at him. Lyman inhaled sharply. "You lied to security. You _did_ see something, or rather, someone. And that someone was probably the person who was murdered last night." Martha hissed at him, telling him to hush, but he ignored her.

"Martha, you need to call Detective Ono," he said firmly.

"Like hell I will," she replied indignantly. "That man's got his head stuck up his ass."

"But the baby-" he began before Martha cut him off.

"-Jack, Lyman. The baby's name is Jack Atlas," she corrected. He froze.

"Did... Did the woman tell you that? That his name was Jack?" he said slowly and carefully, sounding frightened.

"_No_," Martha spat. "I named him Jack. The Atlas part came from the engravings on the rings he's got around his neck." Lyman's expression darkened.

"Martha," he said very seriously. "You know how the saying goes: once you name something, it's yours forever." Martha rolled her eyes.

"Don't worry Lyman," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "Once this whole thing blows over, I'll take Jack downtown and turn him in. Easy; I just don't wanna get involved with security. They can solve the damn case without me."

* * *

Comment(s): Feel free to kick me in the butt when I start ignoring this story again.

FYI, statistics are made up.


	6. Chapter 5: The Miracle

Title: The Silver Rings

Pairing(s): Interpret as you will.

Rating: T

Warning(s): Feminine... details. And language.

Note(s): Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 5: The Miracle**

"Not flesh of my flesh, Nor bone of my bone,  
But still miraculously my own.  
Never forget for a single minute,  
You didn't grow under my heart - but in it."

- Fleur Conkling Heylinger

* * *

As the days dragged on into weeks, the number of officers surrounding the drugstore slowly began to disappear one by one until the area was deserted once again. Detective Ono would regularly drop by with the excuse of wanting to more closely examine the crime scene for details that might have slipped by; the key word being _excuse_. It seemed that the more often he visited, the less time he actually spent hunting for clues and the more time he spent asking Martha questions.

"Nothing's changed since last time, detective," Martha grumbled, finally fed up. "I didn't see anythin' that night and I haven't seen anythin' since then. Dammit Jack, eat your damn cereal." The boy, who was sitting up on the countertop, grinned at the sound of his name; a couple of small, pearly white teeth had grown in. However, Jack was much less interested in eating the cup of dry cereal given to him than he was throwing the individual kernels at Lyman. He squealed with sadistic glee each time he was lucky enough to hit the doctor in the head. The detective eyed the child warily for a long moment before returning his attention to Martha.

"Sorry to bother you then, Miss Saito." Martha rolled her eyes; he certainly didn't sound sorry. "Just thought you might have remembered something."

"Yeah, well, it's like I said; I didn't see anythin' so there's nothin' to remember," she retorted. The officer ignored her.

"Have a nice day," he said before stepping outside. It was only after he had gotten into his police cruiser and driven off that she spoke up again.

"I swear, if this government wasn't so corrupt, I'd sue his ass for harrassment," Martha said with a huff. Lyman winced as a cereal kernel hit his eye; for a kid who was only seven or eight months old (they hadn't been able to figure out the exact number yet, but Lyman had estimated he was within that range), he sure had good aim.

"He knows you're lying," he began frankly. "They're trained to tell the difference. He's doesn't have any leads and he's looking for answers and he knows you've got them." Martha didn't reply, heaving Jack off the counter. She pursed her lips; he was getting a lot heavier and a lot harder to hold. Jack whined, upset that he had been pulled away from his ever-so-amusing game. Lyman sighed.

"You're being just plain stubborn, Martha," he said with an edge of frustration in his voice. "It shouldn't matter whether or not you like the detective assigned to the case; some poor woman was murdered and you're letting her killer get away with it. That just isn't fair and you know it too." Martha sat down, setting Jack down on her lap. She looked at him fondly, curling his light, whispy blonde hair with her fingers. She was starting to get concerned- Jack was an extremely picky eater and he barely ever touched anything she gave to him.

"I have my reasons," she mumbled half-heartedly. Lyman raised his brow.

"You know, Martha," he began casually, leaning up against the counter. His gray eyes were suspicious and watchful. "You said that you would take Jack down to the station once all the chaos surrounding the murder died down. It's been nearly a month since then and now I'm beginning to wonder..." Martha froze. Her gaze hardened.

"Lyman," she warned. He smirked, and there was a hint of smugness in his expression.

"I knew it; you're attached." Martha shook her head.

"Don't say such stupid things," she growled. He ignored her, pressing forward.

"I'm actually pleasantly surprised. After your mother passed away, I never thought I'd see you love someone again." He paused before adding. "She'd be proud."

Martha was silent for a long moment; Lyman _never_ brought up her mother. He knew it was a sensitive subject and that it dug up some rather painful memories for her. Martha closed her eyes and lowered her head, thinking.

"I love you," she said slowly, though the phrase was empty and meaningless. Lyman's eyes dimmed and he smiled sadly.

"Let's not fool ourselves," he replied plainly. He then stood up and went to the back room, leaving Martha and Jack by themeselves. Martha heaved a heavy sigh; she knew the day would come she'd have to break his heart. She knew it wasn't fair; he had been nothing but a good friend to her. But that's all she ever saw him as: a good friend.

She held Jack closer to her. Things would be so much easier if she just fell in love with him, too.

Standing up and shifting Jack over to her left hip, she followed Lyman into the back room. He didn't look up when she entered, continuing to unpack the boxes of over-the-counter medicines that he had asked to be shipped to his store (over six months ago, no less).

"Lyman," she began quietly and seriously. "I've been thinkin'. Maybe it's about time Jack and I moved out of your place; we ain't nothin' but a couple of moneysucking leeches anyway. I read an article in the newspaper sayin' that the economy is picking up again; I could find a job, start supporting ourselves-"

"-Stop right there," Lyman began, holding up his hand. "My house has always been open to you and it always will be; the money has never been an issue. Besides, what will you do? Go back to living in your car until you save up enough to afford an apartment?" Martha furrowed her brow, irked, but Lyman plowed on. "I'm sorry, but you can't live a homeless lifestyle anymore; you've got a baby and you and I both know you're never going to turn him in to Security, no matter how many times you say you will." Martha's hands began shaking with anger.

"Fine then. I'll take him down to the station, right now," she shot back.

"You know you don't want to do that, Martha. For once, just get over your pride and put Jack first." His voice was calm, but this was perhaps the angriest she had ever heard him in her entire life, and it caught her off guard. She stood rooted to the spot for a long moment, unable to find her words. She swallowed.

"Alright. But I'm still gonna get a job. I'm sick of being a liability," she said stiffly. The edges around Lyman's eyes softened.

"You never were," he said quietly. Before Martha had a chance to reply, the pair heard the bells attached to the front door ring as it swung open.

"Hello, anyone in here?" said a familiar voice from the other room. For a split-second, Martha forgot how to breathe.

"Masato?" she asked, practically running back into the store. He looked just as surprised to see her as she was him.

"Well, I'll be damned. Martha, it's been awhile. How've you been?" he asked as a grin formed under his bushy moustache.

"I've been gettin' along. What are you doing here?"

"The pharmacy down by where I live went out of business- and Zora's been feeling awfully sick lately with her pregnancy. So I drove down here to see if I could get anythin' that might help here. I didn't know you worked here though. Small world, huh?"

"Oh, I don't work here," Martha said, waving her free hand dismissively. "I'm just friends with the shop owner, Lyman Schmitt, and I stake out here often." As she said this, Lyman rose from the back room, looking a little confused by all the excitement caused by this customer.

"So, you must be Schmitt-san," Masato said, reaching out and shaking his hand. "Name's Masato. Pleasure meeting you."

"The same applies for me." He looked cautious. "How do you and Martha know each other?"

"Ah, she didn't tell you? She stayed the night at my place after her ol' Volkswagon broke down in the middle of the road. That was the day you picked up Jack, wasn't it?" Martha nodded sheepishly, noticing the look Lyman was giving her; she hadn't told him because she knew it would upset him to think she was more willing to spend the night at some stranger's house than at his. But he couldn't blame her- the damn truck broke down before she could reach his house.

"I see," Lyman began, straightening up. "So, what can I do for you?"

"Well, it's like I said; my wife's in her last month of pregnancy and she's been real queasy. I've felt bad 'cause I've been so busy that I haven't really been able to take good care of her. But I'm hoping there's some kind of medicine that might help her out a bit." Lyman paused and looked pensive, running through possible options in his head.

"It's tricky because she's pregnant," he explained thoughtfully. "You generally don't want pregnant woman popping pills if it can be avoided, because it can affect the baby. My advice would be to buy her some gingerale or, if that's too strong, make her some mint tea. That'll help ease the pain in her stomach. Make sure she drinks plenty of water too; she may actually be dehydrated, and that could be what's causing the nausea." Masato eyes widened, surprised.

"Well, thank you sir. I've never gotten advice like that before from a drugstore owner." He broke into another smile. "I think I might be coming here more often." Martha grinned.

"Lyman's the best uncertified doctor you'll ever meet," she said with a laugh.

"I can see that." His eyes wandered over to Jack, who was looking rather restless in Martha's arms. "So, you kept Jack? Zora'll be glad to hear that." Martha's smile eased.

"Yeah..." she began tentatively, readjusting her grip on him. "He's a handful though. An expensive handful at that." There was a mischevious glint in Masato's eye.

"Well, maybe I can help you out there," he said. Martha's head perked up.

"What do you mean?"

"I've been wondering whether I should hire someone to look after Zora while I'm working. Problem is, a whole lotta' folks around these parts of the city are kinda shady. Wouldn't trust 'em one bit. But you, well, I'd let you babysit my unborn son, no questions asked. Why, you could just drive on up to our home and keep Zora company; Jack can come too. You can help her with whatever she needs and then you can drive back down at the end of the day. I know it's only a month-long gig, but I'll pay you alright." Both Martha and Lyman looked taken aback by this offer.

"Masato, I hope you ain't offering this just to be nice," Martha said, sounding a little skeptical.

"I promise I ain't," Masato replied, raising his right hand. "You can start tomorrow. You remember where we live, right?"

"Sure do."

"Great! Then I'll see you in the morning at around, oh, say 9 a.m.?" Martha nodded and Masato grinned. They exchanged a few quick goodbye's and just as Masato was about to step out of the store, he faced Martha again and said, "By the way... And don't take this to offense, but if he's being a handful, maybe you oughta try breastfeeding him." Martha looked confused.

"What good will that do? It's not like he'll get anything out of it."

"Couple of years ago, after we'd just gotten married, Zora and I got a puppy. Cutest thing ever. It missed it's mom like no other, though. It used to suckle on pillows and the like; comforted him, I suppose."

"I still don't see what you're getting at," Martha said, turning her head slightly and cocking her brow at him. Masato shrugged.

"Maybe Jack's missing his mom, too."

* * *

It wasn't until evening when she was in the comfort of her bedroom that Martha tried following Masato's advice. She sat Jack up on the bed as she awkwardly lifted her shirt up and unclasped her bra. She briefly wondered if this could be considered child abuse- sticking a baby that didn't belong to you up to your breast and hoping it would suck on it. She shook away the thought; she couldn't let herself think that way. She was doing this with the hope it would stop making Jack so fussy all the time.

He immediately knew what to do when she brought him close to her. He bit down on the nipple, hard. Martha flinched in pain, forgetting he now had teeth. As the pain subsided, she tried to adjust to the strange sensation of a child suckling at her. It tickled a little bit, and sent shivers up her spine. She supposed Masato was right; this _was_ comforting to him.

She suddemly became aware of a warm liquid leaking down her breast. At first, she thought he was just drooling. Disgusted, she pulled him up a bit to wipe off his chin, but was shocked to see that it was not his own spit that he was drooling. Her eyes widened.

_Holy mother of God-_

"Lyman!" she yelped, jumping up, though she was careful not to disturb Jack, who had turned his head to her breast once again. "Lyman, come here quick!" The door to the bedroom opened and there was Lyman, worried that something bad had happened to one of them.

"Yes, what is-" His face flushed scarlett when he saw that she was uncovered and he turned his head away politely. "Martha..."

"Lyman, look, I have milk!" she practically screamed, ignoring his obvious embarrassment.

"_What?_" Forgetting all about the fact that she was halfway shirtless, he scrambled to get a closer look. "Well, I'll be damned. You do."

"But how is this possible?"

"I honestly don't know; there must be a medical explanation though..." he said, scratching his head. "I'll have to do some research." All a sudden, both became painfully aware of her naked breast. Their faces heated up and they jerked away from each other; Lyman faced the door and Martha turned her back to him, silently continuing feeding Jack.

"I'll... I'll just leave you two to yourselves then," Lyman said with an awkward cough. Martha sighed when he stepped outside, trying to push their last encounter out of her mind; it was a good thing she was heading driving up to take care of Zora in the morning. Hanging around with Lyman all day tomorrow would have been just plain uncomfortable.

As Jack finished up, Martha pulled her shirt back down and cuddled him close to her.

Lyman was right. No matter how many times she said she would, there was no way she'd ever give him up now.

* * *

Comment(s): Reviews and analyses are greatly appreciated. :)

Yes, it is possible for a woman to produce milk, even if she was not pregnant. It's very rare, but it happens nonetheless. Certain hormones can begin being produced when a woman is caring for a child and when that child sucks at her, it stimulates the breast, thus bringing forth milk. Aah, the wonders of mother nature.


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